Wide Awake
by CrimsonMidnightKisses
Summary: A few years after the American Revolution, a bitter and hurting England visits the man to blame for his pain. France is less than amused. Oneshot. Hints of FrUk and UsUk, warnings for language and mild violence. Angst. Human names used.


AN: This is post American Revolutionary War and pre French Revolution. Hints of USUK and FrUK if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but nothing too serious. Angst. Rated T for language. Word count: 2,595. Never leave a Brit alone to wallow in self misery. First fanfiction to eve rbe posted and all flame s will be used to fuel the fire for more angsty stories, you have been warned.

Everything was just like a dream now that these years have passed since he left this home completely. Every promise dissolved into nothing more than a bitter lie and actual pain from deep within came with this realization. The blonde sat on his bed, staring at old photos that were sprawled out before him. The photos had the same face in each one, a face of a male with choppy blonde hair and shining blue eyes. The photos showed the male growing up throughout the years, but there wasn't any age progression past his late teen years. The man on the bed had his small form curled up and shaking from the faint sobs that fell from his beautifully shaped lips. He had given Alfred everything and now there was nothing left of their time together, except for the fading pictures of memories that didn't seem so long ago, when everything was right and their world together was perfect.

Now the place he used to call home was an empty shell of what it used to be, without the loud voice and laughter echoing through the halls, it felt cold. The young nation was strong and growing with more rebellious souls that could only harm Alfred in the long run. Arthur felt as if he should have seen it earlier on, before things got out of control. Before he found himself with a bottle of rum in his grip and a tear streaked face. The liquid was causing his throat to ache with the fire he felt when it went down and through his system. Arthur wiped his lips and he stared at the pictures once more. Sorrow filled his mind and heart, before a feeling of loathing entered him because of a certain man with long, flowing hair.

_"If Francis had kept his big nose out of our business we could have had everything together, Alfred. We could have been wonderful side by side if it weren't for that French bastard," the Englishman thought to himself. "Yes, it was Francis' fault that I lost my Alfred. My darling, Alfred. My golden child. If he had not have filled his beautiful mind with talk of hate for me and rebellion, then I could still have my perfect Alfred. My sweet boy who was going to change my world completely and who gave me a reason to get up in the morning."_

These thoughts were dangerous for him to have with his intoxicated state that left him as unpredictable and complicated as the sea in which surrounded his lonely self. Anger pulsed through his veins along with the alcohol until he could hear his heart pound in his ears loudly, the stray rhythm reminding him of the war drums that played during that fateful battle. The Englishman abruptly stood up and slipped on the coat to his uniform before rushing out of his house and into the pouring rain. No one questioned him as he made his way to the Channel and into the country of the man he used to love so dearly. Bitterness caused Arthur to see the beautiful sights differently from what he remembered. He marched through the streets of Paris where the heart of the bastard who destroyed him flourished beautifully, just like the man himself.

It wasn't long until he navigated his way through the familiar streets to find himself at the doorstep of the beautiful home. He pounded his fist against the door until a young maid opened the door. Arthur didn't even bother with her, his mind was dead set on giving the Frenchman a good piece of his mind or his fist. The maid didn't question him because he was a usual guest in this home ever since she had started working there. Sometimes the man and the other nation would fight until they both passed out or they grew too tired to scream any longer. The anger boiled underneath his skin and he pushed past the young girl to make his unexpected entrance into Francis' room, leaving a trail of wet footsteps down the halll. The Frenchman looked up at him with a half smile that resembled more of a smirk the longer Arthur looked at it. His fist clenched tighter as the Frenchman set his book down and stood up to greet him.

"Oh, Angleterre, 'ow nice it is to see you out and about on-" His words were cut off by the crack of flesh hitting flesh, only Arthur's fingers were not curled into a fist like he thought. The sound rang in his ears, followed by a dangerous silence that was filled with the rumble of thunder from the storm outside. After all the time Arthur had spent with the Frenchman he learned a few things about him, and one of those things was the longer it took Francis to react to something, the more dramatic the response became. Francis' head snapped up as he turned back to look at the small nation with dangerously flashing blue eyes that flared with his own anger for the man laying a hand on him. He grabbed the Englishman by the collar and pulled him close with a killing intent making the atmosphere unbelievably heavy in the room.

"You 'ave some nerve, coming 'ere like you have, Monsuier Kirkland," he spat out, his heavy French accent growing thicker with anger as he slammed the other up against the wall roughly. His lips were curved into a devilish smile of his own hatred that had been rushing through his head ever since birth. It was almost as if the two nations were created to hate the other.

"I loathe you." Arthur snarled at him coldly. His face was set with a deep frown and piercing green eyes that would send a chill down anyone's spine except for the hot blooded nation's because he knew the truth behind those eyes. The main problem with having your enemy also be your best ally is that they know you so well, but do not find the need to end your existance for the sake of winning an argument.

"Why do you 'ate me this time, Kirkland. I am in no mood for these childish temper tantrums of yours." He looked at him with cold disinterest and the faintest hint of knowing why the smaller man was planning his funeral at this very moment. Arthur reached out to push the other off, but he wouldn't budge. Angry and frustrated, Arthur snarled at the Frenchman like a wild animal being released from it's cage. The sight frightened Francis, but he let the other answer his question without interrupting him again.

"You bastard. You took away my Alfred. What the fuck have I done to you that made you ruin my chance of finally being happy? What the fuck are you having a fit about?" Arthur stared deep into his eyes before bringing his knee up quickly to ram it into the other's abdominal. Francis coughed out a groan as he bent over from pain, but he was quick to react to the blow. Within a matter of seconds he had his hand wrapped around the Brit's slender and fragile neck, tightening his fingers to almost cut off any chance of the smaller nation's ability to breathe before throwing him down on the ground.

Arthur rolled over on the hardwood floor, coughing and choking up a bit of blood as Francis forced him to lay flat on his back while placing a boot on his chest. His baby blue eyes had darkened to the color of cold sapphires, but the Englishman would not be intimidated by him, even as he had trouble gasping for breath. He glared up at him darkly as he clenched his jaw tightly, his beautiful teeth flashing with pain and anger. Arthur could make out his own handprint on the other's face and that filled him with a great satisfaction.

"And if I do recall, Angleterre, that you took away my darling child as well. Snatched him right out of my 'ands and forced him to speak your language because you couldn't stand hearing mine fall from such precious lips. Did you scream at him to make him stop speaking in French? Did you lock him away in his room as he screamed for his Papa? Did you?" Francis screamed at the man below him, rage sending tremors down his own spine.

"Of course I didn't, you sick man. I would never hurt him like that, but I couldn't stand hearing your voice when he spoke. Your voice doesn't belong with someone so pure, Francis, and you know that." Arthur replied back coldly, feeling a bit of shame because he had done the last thing mentioned and he was very ashamed of that side of him. Matthew didn't even remember it, but Arthur still couldn't look him in the eye when he would be at a meeting with him. It was why he pretend he couldn't seem him sometimes because his guilt made the young Matthew's voice replay in his head. He remembered picking the child up and brushing away the tears because of the eternal guilt he held deep in his chest.

_"I didn't want to hear you in my head anymore. Not after I heard you whisper those promises and sweet words, only to turn your back on me once again. Never to feel you love me again like I've always wanted you to. The only one I ever loved was you Francis and during our one night, I thought you loved me as well..."_ The Englishman's thoughts trailed off when he started to feel the heel of the other's boot dig deep into his chest. He wouldn't have it. Arthur reached up and pulled the other down to the ground with him, causing the man's knee to slam against his forehead, but he didn't mind. He sat up quickly and grabbed the other by his long locks of hair, causing Francis to wince and glare up at him with a promise of pain. Arthur didn't care now because everything he had loved had now been taken away from him and the blame always ended with the Frenchman as the cause of it all.

"You listen to me, Francis, I don't care what you think I did to your precious boy. I loved him just as much as you did." Arthur snapped coldly as he let go of his hair. Francis rubbed his tender head and bared his teeth as he spoke to the Englishman with cold words meant to cut him deep within his core.

"You know what Alfred was telling me last night during the firework show for 'is birthday? When a green firework lit up the night sky 'e said that was 'ow your eyes looked when he was finally able to get away from you. That the sparkle in your eyes died that night, that you used to be his light and then you fell into a pile of nothing at 'is feet. He's so big now, 'e is exploring 'imself anddiscovering new things about who he is." Francis said in a taunting voice, and while his words wounded the island nation deeply, he wouldn't let it show. Arthur launched himself at the Frenchman with an intent of bashing his face into the floor, but he wasn't fast enough. Francis grabbed hold of his wrists and he started kicking and screaming at the Frenchman in a shrill voice.

"I hate you! I hate you! Goddamn you, Francis! You ruined everything for me! Do you know what you did to me? Do you have any idea what you've done to me? Answer me!" Arthur screamed with hot tears rolling down his reddened cheeks. Francis stopped his initial urge to cause the other more pain as he felt a deep regret within him, eating him alive now as he watched the smaller nation break down in sobs. He was speechless and all he could do was listen to his wails of hatred.

"Angleterre, I'm sorry, I just..." Francis started, but was cut off by Arthur's scream of what sounded like absolute torture, as if someone had pressed a white hot fire poker against his skin. He was fighting against him while his body convulsed with his harsh cries that could be heard mixed with the heavily falling rain on the house.

"Y-You love to hurt me, don't you? You've done it ti-time and time again. You did this to me!" The Brit cried out and suddenly stopped fighting, then fell weakly into his arms. His whole body had stopped moving from pure exhaustion as he focused on the ceiling above with half lidded eyes. His mind slowly going blank and fading with the passing seconds. "You win."

Francis' heart stopped and clenched tightly at those words. He refused to be the reason that his little Angleterre fell so hard, but it was the truth. He had turned Alfred against him for nearly the cost of his own country, going into a deeper debt which caused his own health to decline rapidly. He had won because he had destroyed his little gentleman, but now all he wanted to do was let him win again. Arthur had fallen so hard from his perfect life, from the secret pedestal that Francis had him on since he watched the island nation become so magnificent. He scooped the small man into his arms without protest from the other.

"If you are going to do it, make it quick. Don't make me suffer anymore. Just finish me, like you have always wanted to do since we were children." Arthur spoke weakly as he gathered enough energy to place his hand on his face tenderly, completely opposite of the way he had touched him there earlier that night. Francis just shook his head and laid him down on his bed, and a smile placed itself on the half delirious Englishman's face. Serious worry crossed the Frenchman's mind as he watched the smaller nations eyes flutter heavily, slowly slipping out of consciousness. Little trembling jerks that showed that Arthur was still breathing and his overly flushed cheeks were the only signs that man was still alive with him. He began taking off his boots before sitting close to the smaller nation with a crease forming itself between his eyebrows.

"What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?" Francis asked as he brushed his shaggy blonde hair away from his forehead, feeling a fever begin to break out. The Frenchman knew that the toll of the war affected the country badly and now it was really showing itself on him. Arthur was half conscious of the world spinning around him and the angelic face of the other man looking at him with such worry. Arthur felt as if he could die happy because he felt a trickle of the other's love for the first time in years. His chest felt light once again knowing that Francis cared, that Francis was here caressing his face with such strong hands. Before the smaller nation slipped under completely Francis heard a few words uttered from Arthur that he was barely able to make out.

"God save the Queen."


End file.
